Alara Unbroken - Doug Beyer [58]
The lighthouse keeper strained against a dark blot in his mind, but it wrapped its claws around him—and then, in a crushed moment between pain and darkness, he lost the fight with unconsciousness. He never felt the leviathan’s jaws close over him, closing also over the peak of the reef. He never felt its jaws crush the coral, breaking the reef free of the structure underneath, or felt gratitude that his death came without awareness. He never saw the leviathan wander away afterward, leaving behind it an ancient underwater obelisk of smooth stone.
The vedalken mentalist collapsed on the ground at the edge of the cliff, exhausted. She looked up at the longhaired human who had accompanied her, a man she had just met hours before.
“The obelisk has been freed, sir,” she said. “It is done.”
“Good. I’ll inform Master Bolas,” said Sarkhan.
NAYA
It was dawn when Marisi finished the ritual at the Relic of Progenitus, a worn disk stood upright on its edge, like an enormous sandstone coin. The carvings on its front surface showed spiraling patterns of a long-necked, three-headed hydra. In the center of the disk glowed a single red shard of quartz, the gem that formed the central eye of the hydra god in the carving.
Marisi planted the dragonscale sphere in the weeds behind the Relic and chanted the words as Bolas had instructed. The dark-scaled globe gaped open into a hemisphere, releasing swirling purplish magics that chilled Marisi’s soul. Tendrils of magic reached inside the Relic, causing deep corruption that Marisi couldn’t fathom. The deed was done. He left the dragonscale bowl to do its work, and climbed out of the valley. Perhaps when he reached his mountain home again, Bolas would be waiting for him there, ready for the news that the ritual was complete, and that he had some new task for Marisi. Or perhaps he would be alone with his misery.
As he reached the first foothill out of the valley, he was startled by a white-furred nacatl standing before him.
“Marisi,” said the white-furred cat, squinting at him, looking him up and down. “Is it you? No. You couldn’t be.”
“No,” said Marisi. “Leave me alone.”
“Chimamatl said I’d find you here, Marisi the warrior-hero, the Breaker of the Coil. She said you’d have mahogany fur with black stripes, as you do.”
Marisi’s heart bounced. The white-furred nacatl knew Chimamatl, the old power-mad witch who wanted her son to be kha of her pride. Chimamatl was a connection to one of Marisi’s many sins—and she had sold him out. Could the white-fur know his secrets?
“I must go,” Marisi said. “You are mistaken. Marisi is dead.”
“Chimamatl said that Marisi visited her. If you are he,” said the white cat, “then I have serious questions for you. My brother was killed in an attack of dark magic.”
They heard rustling in the valley below. A procession of elves, including a young, black-haired elf girl riding on the back of a gargantuan, pushed through the jungle. They were making their way to the knoll where the Relic of Progenitus stood.
Marisi heaved a breath. “What is your name, White-Fur?”
“Ajani.”
“Ajani, I am sorry to hear about your brother. But I … I am not the one you seek.”
In a flash, Ajani pulled out his double-headed axe and put a blade to Marisi’s neck. His voice was even but flecked with rage. “I think you lie. I think you were involved in my brother’s death. And if you don’t tell me what I want to know—”
“Kill me,” said Marisi suddenly, tipping up his chin, leaving his throat exposed.
“What?”
“Take my life, destroy me, and I will have died with a modicum of honor. It would be mercy. Kill me.”
“I … I cannot just kill you,” said Ajani, pulling the axe away. “I must know if you’re the one. You’re Marisi, aren’t you? You are the Breaker of the Coil. And my brother’s—”
“The Beast of Antali, some say,” said Marisi. “Listen, my friend. There are forces at